


Between Shadow and Soul

by tyrantsandcreampuffs



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, happy mercykill week!, i'm mercykill trash and no one is surprised, is this angsty? is this happy?? spin the wheel of feelings to find out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrantsandcreampuffs/pseuds/tyrantsandcreampuffs
Summary: She is a woman of science, but what she had felt then – and even now, miles away from him – isn’t something that could just easily be passed off as reaction of biological chemistry in the bloodstream. In truth there is a connection that exceeds the constraints of flesh, the human understanding of self. His gruff voice only softened by his affection for her is clear in her mind: Have you ever heard of soulmates, cariño?(Or: te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.)





	1. With You

**Author's Note:**

> I'm joining this thing because I've been in a rut and I like the challenge. This story is going to be non-linear and will mostly be word dribble just to keep me actively writing, but they're all connected, I swear! :) I am on tumblr, over [here](http://kaathiiee.tumblr.com) if you want to hit me up. I'm friendly and don't bite. ;) 
> 
> Title is taken from Neruda's sonnet xvii, from this line: _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul_.

**1: With You**

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Of course she is suspicious when Gabriel pulls her to the side and orders her to leave the headquarters. Her pager hasn’t rung or informed her of any emergencies she has to personally attend to, but Gabriel has always been nothing but persistent.  _It’s someone important to the U.N. that they can’t afford to lose, Doc._ He doesn’t tell her who it is specifically because supposedly he doesn’t know as well, but he has the position to acquire such intelligence at all so she has to trust him.

 

 _And you,_  he says right before she can rush back to her laboratory to claim the supplies she would need on her trip to the hospital in Zurich, making her turn around to face him.  _I trust you, too, Angela._

 

There is a tightening in her chest as he speaks. It sounds too much of a goodbye, too much of a permanent farewell. She has been hearing rumors around the base of favors and debts being called upon by the two men who were both at the core of Overwatch. It has been a tense environment ever since Jack had officially been proclaimed as the commander of Overwatch, and she had wondered when it would be her turn for one of them to recruit her to either side. She thinks the two men should know better than to try to force her into choosing between them when she has always been a neutral party to all these politics and titles, caring only for the work she is able to do under the banner of their organization.

 

 _I’ll come back as soon as I can._ She reaches out to clasp his hand in hers. She can’t say it out loud, but he knows. He has to know how she truly feels, and how it pains her to not be able to stand by him when he is feeling the injustice of the world against him.

 

He squeezes her hand once, with the same finality as his words, before letting go.

 

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For some reason, her communication channels with the headquarters are down the entire time of her flight. She rarely takes notice of those while she is in a vehicle anyway. She has the tendency to focus on reviewing documents and going through paperwork during taxi; it is simply a much more efficient use of her time. But today she is tired, and as much as she loves her job, she knows when to give herself some respite, some space for breathing.

 

Her mind wanders back to Gabriel, and how he had been acting terribly off for the past few weeks. She wishes for everything to go back to how it used to be. Oh, what she would give for Winston’s chronal technology. If she could pick one good moment to relive, it would be the time when Gabriel appeared at the balcony of her housing unit, as though he came out of thin air, drunken off his ass and blurting out love confessions like he was a boy still in his youth. She always wants to remember the look on his face in the morning, realizing what he had said and done, and the grunt he had let out as an apology for not having said anything sooner.

 

She is a woman of science, but what she had felt then – and even now, miles away from him – isn’t something that could just easily be passed off as reaction of biological chemistry in the bloodstream. In truth there is a connection that exceeds the constraints of flesh, the human understanding of self. His gruff voice only softened by his affection for her is clear in her mind:  _Have you ever heard of soulmates, cariño?_

 

He occupies her thoughts until the pilot alerts her of how they are approaching the hospital, which is her signal to change into her Valkyrie suit. The hospital is a war zone of an entirely different kind, but she needs the costume anyway to intimidate others so she could get it all over with. If Gabriel hadn’t been lying, then the patient should have already undergone preliminary treatment by now and her only job is to apply her nanotechnology to ensure they heal faster, whoever they are. After clearing whatever paperwork and reports necessary, only then could she come back to the headquarters.

 

The jet lands smoothly, yet when the hatch opens and she steps out, there are sirens blaring loudly all around the landing pad. She doesn’t even have to say it out loud.  _There is something wrong_.

 

 _Mercy! Doctor Ziegler!_ There are people running up to intercept her. It is an entire team of medics, panic-faced and clutching at their supplies and portable equipment.  _Quickly, we must go!_

_To where? What is happening?_

_Overwatch is burning!_

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The plane isn’t even cleared for landing yet and still she jumps off, putting her faith in her wings to lead her to someone – anyone at all – who needs her. If she waits until they could all be on the ground together, it would be too far away from the main site of blast and she could be too late. Her staff is able to immediately lock on to those in her team when she’s out on the field and she thinks of those who could have still been at the base when she left not a few hours ago. Her mind runs through the names and faces of those she knows all too well and the fear of losing any one of them is tugging at her heart, pulling her down to the ground with the weight of it.

 

She flies blindly into what used to be their base of operations. What used to be the compound that held the hope of humanity is now all rubble and unsettled dust. It would be absolutely futile if she doesn’t end up locking on to anyone because she would turn into something akin a swatted fly or a dropped egg. More desperate than ever, she holds up her staff, waving at it frantically while trying to navigate the trajectory of her wings to get to anyone she could save – or who could save her.

 

Finally something clicks and the small screen fixed into her staff lights up to show the face of whose biotic signature it is able to detect amidst all the bedlam. It’s one of her fears come true as the name shows up with the preliminary scanning of his vitals beside it.  _Gabriel Reyes. Broken ribs. Collapsed lung._ The list goes on. She has to get to him before he can drown in his own blood.

Her Caduceus staff leads her to where Gabriel is laying and she begins crying as soon as she catches a glimpse of him. Luckily for her, he isn’t somewhere she couldn’t reach like underneath debris. He had been blown away by the blast and had managed to avoid being fallen upon by the building and the impossibly heavy materials. Unluckily for him, he had been in no means spared. There are still rocks on top of his torso, and a steel rod from a cracked panel of reinforced concrete had also pierced through his chest. One of his legs is twisted at a bad angle, so moving him is out of her options while she is alone with backup too far away. He is unconscious and barely breathing, blood is filling up the cavity of his chest faster than it could be expelled out of his body; but at least his pulse is very much real beneath her touch. She could work with that. She had been able to work with much less, with death itself, but the chronal technology of her staff couldn’t reverse damage at this scale.

 

 _Gabriel._ She cries for him.  _Gabriel. Gabe. Hey, stay with me._

 

She knows better than to compromise herself like this. As a doctor she needs the ability to dissociate herself from her patients, to feel herself apart of the treatment – but now, in the middle of the chaos her lover had helped create, how could she? He is dying, and what can she do? There is blood and grit everywhere, and she couldn’t do anything because the damned stubborn man is wearing a bulletproof vest so thick she cannot remove it without risking the steel bar moving and piercing his heart instead, a quick and easy death for him. _Is that what he wants?_

 

 _Stay with me_ , she repeats, activating her beam and firing it up in its highest intensity at him. Healing with nanotechnology is something supposed to be done in little increments, only acting as an aid to assist the body naturally regenerate itself; her research hadn’t been designed to compete with death. She fills him up with it anyway because she doesn’t know what else she can do for him. And she is crying, and he is dying, and if he is gone, then so she would be too, because – isn’t that what they are?  _Soulmates, cariño. It means wherever I am, I carry you._ _And wherever I am, I’m with you._

_._

_._

_._

 

 

 

 


	2. Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited the tense of the first chapter to be consistent with the rest of the chapters I have lined up. I'm far more comfortable writing in this way. Thank you for the comments and the kudos in the previous chapter! Hope you like this next installment. :)
> 
> Just a point of inspiration for this chapter from the song Innocent by Anberlin: _There are few words that are left to say that have not already been said. Your shadows, they will follow me long after I have confessed._
> 
>  

  **2: Innocence**

 

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This moment is before: before she breaks her vow as a doctor, before she purposely stains her hands by taking a life, by _killing_ ; before she even entertains the notion of the possibility of falling in love with him.

 

She’s dressed in complete personal protection equipment, a clear visor over her eyes and plugs over her ears. The weight of the practice blaster shifts in her hands. _It’s not a real weapon_ , she reminds herself. _It can’t hurt anyone – yet._ But soon she’ll be cleared to return to the field, and soon enough she’ll be busy with trying to save everyone that she could while trying not to die – that is, if she is able to prove herself a decent shot. She’s never been the one to back down from a challenge, always excelling at what assignment is handed to her; but learning how to aim, how to pull a trigger while knowing that the person on the other end of the barrel is completely at her mercy, isn’t something she ever wants to be good at.

 

But it’s a necessity. If she wants to help, she can’t just be a sitting duck, waiting for the coast to be clear and relying on others to cover for her when it isn’t. She has to be of help to her team, too, in other ways besides providing her healing technology. She has to have their back just as they have hers.

 

She lifts up her arms, posturing her shoulders to align her body to the stance that’s been taught to her by Jack. The sensors are beeping to life, a signal that her change in motion has been detected and that the shots she will take after she pulls the trigger will be recorded in her log at the practice range. _Breathe in and out, just as you’ve been told to do._ With trembling fingers, she finally presses the trigger down and – _bang_ , a beam of light hits across the room and lands nowhere near the set target.

 

 _Your form is fucking awful_. Commander Reyes is lying down on the couch near the entrance of the large hall, his boots raised on the armrests. When did he come in? And how could he have seen her when he has one lazy hand pushing down his beanie over his eyes? _What was that you were doing? Jack taught you?_

 

 _As a matter of fact, Commander,_ Angela replies, red-faced with frustration pooling in her gut as she sets the blaster aside, _he did_.

 

 _I can count more ways of you getting killed with your current form than I have fingers, Doc._ He rises out of his position to walk toward her. _To start, you’re too stiff. You’re holding yourself in that position without being ready to move. Easy target for sniping._

 

She wishes she could say something, but she’s too drained of energy to argue. Only one shot in her weapon usage log and already she is wavering in her belief that she can achieve anything with a gun. It goes against her principles, against the sacred vow she had taken to preserve life in all forms. She’s not completely aloof; she knows that they are at war, and war has its consequences – death being just one of many – but she had wanted to live in the illusion a little bit longer, that perhaps she could come out of this conflict still clean somehow.

 

 _I’m a doctor, not a soldier_. _I’m not meant for this_ , she gestures at the gun, at the targets still waiting to be shot at from across the room. _I only want to help protect those I care about._

_Funny. I said the exact same thing in front of the jury when they tried me for killing a bunch of thugs who harassed my mother. I was only sixteen. Wasn’t a soldier yet then, but I wanted to protect her; and it was all that mattered._

The information he tells her isn’t anything new. As head of medical research, she has access to files of all Overwatch personnel, including their personal history in case their past could trigger certain reactions that could be detrimental to team cohesion in the field. Their psyche has always been equally important as their physical conditions. She knows what he’s saying, but it hits her just as badly anyway because she’s _forgotten_.

 

Once upon a time, he had been innocent, too. Commander Reyes hasn’t always been the ruthless leader of Overwatch who knew how to get the job done. He had just been a boy, trying to live as well as he could in a bad part of the world, until he couldn’t; until he had to learn how to fight, how to pick up his knife and gun to survive.

 

 _We do what we must,_ is what he is actually saying. She nods at him, finally understanding, and picks up her practice blaster once more and gets into position. Her heart is racing; she hears it pounding in her ears, with her anxiety. Still, she doesn’t protest when he adjusts her wrist to relax her grip or when he puts a hand on the small of her back to steady her as she pulls the trigger. She doesn’t protest when his hand stays there, even as she takes her third shot – the fourth, the fifth.

 

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Angela learns just how different the simulations are from actuality when she finally kills someone. There is a moment where everything before her freezes, a moment she will always remember in such vivid clarity: the bullet in mid-air, the smoke coming out of her gun in wisps, the Talon operative not seeing her attack coming. His body hits the ground with a loud thud, loud enough to shake her entire world, and she isn’t sure if the choked scream is from her own throat or from the child behind her who she had tried to protect.

 

Either way, they are crying all the same. If it had been anyone else who had shot the man, she would have been the one to fly to the child to console them; this time, though, the death of the man is on her hands, so she is unable to comfort anyone when she feels the shift in her self: innocence lost.

 

Commander Reyes is the one to find her and she vaguely hears him as he barks an order to his men to take the child to safety with the rest of the civilians they had been trying to rescue. She feels out of her own body when he’s trying to shake her back to her senses. _Doctor Ziegler, Doctor Ziegler, we have to go – for fuck’s sake. Angela!_

 

At that moment, she doesn’t know whom to hate. Is it the fault of Overwatch, for forcing her hand to choose between lives? She is a doctor, and she had been charged with having no bias, treating and saving everyone she can; and yet now she had just chosen to kill someone to save another. Or is it all to blame on Talon, for necessitating such violence to begin with? Or perhaps even herself, for thinking she could be so naïve…

 

 _The fuck you want me to do, Doc?_ He’s still trying to get her to get out of her stupor, but his means aren’t gentle. It isn’t him to be. _Coddle you and shit? Tell you it’s going to be okay? I’m not Jack, Angela._

 

Her voice doesn’t quite reach her lips, though this is in her thoughts: _You aren’t, but you can hold me all the same_. She is sure she doesn’t ever say it out loud, but he moves to embrace her anyway, as though knowing what is in her mind. The metals of their respective armor clink as he crashes into her and the solidness of his body, the comfort of his touch is all she needs to come to.

 

 _I felt the look on your face once,_ he is saying in a hushed tone, _and I remember what I wanted then was for someone to hold me._ Just seconds before she could not perceive anything in her surroundings, and now she is all of a sudden hyperaware of his presence before her: the scent of his sweat blending in with metal, with gunpowder; the dark of his skin and his eyes, the kindness that she had never expected of him to show.

 

She will remember this moment for the rest of her life. This moment is after: after she breaks her vow as a doctor, after she purposely stains her hands by taking a life, by killing; after she begins considering the possibility of falling in love with him.

   


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	3. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting, but here it is! It's a bit angsty at the end, just to show that their relationship wasn't always positive in this story. This chapter is at the start of Overwatch, so they don't really get along too well yet. If I haven't properly clarified it, the chapters in this story take place in the same universe/timeline, so I'm going for a nonlinear narrative of their relationship. Hopefully by the end it will all come together nicely enough.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! There have been other outputs for MercyKill week that I haven't really checked out, but I hope you guys are supporting the artists and writers in our community. Spread the love for this ship. <3

**3: Forgiveness**

 

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What she hates most is the waiting, the anxious anticipation for the agents to come back from the field. She doesn’t bother listening in on their communications as it makes her even more scared for them. The gunshots are also so loud that they make her flinch, and she needs to be sure in her movements when she’s in the laboratory. She’s great at that, putting aside her emotions and fears to focus on the work.

 

She is at the cusp of something brilliant, at the edge of glory. She is _so close_ to figuring out how to hasten the healing process by introducing her nanotechnology to the body. Hours of refining and scrapping samples is going to pay off, she knows it. Overwatch had lured her into joining their organization with the promise of unlimited resources for her research. They’ve been giving her free reign on the entire department of medical research, and she hopes they wouldn’t take it back any time soon at the lack of concrete results.

 

It frustrates her so, and she’s been using that as a driving force to push her own limits. She hasn’t had a proper sleep in days, only allowing herself to doze off for a short time before resuming her work. Most of her staff had also expressed their concern over her not leaving the laboratory to eat, but she doesn’t stop because she’s becoming more desperate to help. She feels herself useless, with the agents out their risking their lives; the risk becoming higher and higher with each mission in which she isn’t able to put out a way to aid in healing them without having to pull them out of the field too long.

 

 _You’re not going to be of any help if you get yourself sick,_ she tells herself. She had fallen ill so many times from pushing herself like this, and yet she never listens. _So doctors do make the worst patients._

 

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She’s in the laboratory, still; has been in there for a week, with maintenance bringing in a couch for her to sleep on at the suggestion of her staff. _So close_ , she thinks. _I can’t stop now, it’ll be done soon, I swear—_

_Angela!_ Jack comes in to find her slumping over a row of petri dishes, this time trying in-situ addition of her nanotechnology with samples of damaged cells. Her lids are falling heavy over her eyes and she’s barely awake, barely able to keep herself sitting upright _We need you at the medbay now!_

She has questions, too: _When did you get here? How did the mission go? Is everyone alright—_

_Gabe got shot right before we could complete extraction. Haven’t been able to stabilize him yet. There was something laced in the bullet, we think—I can’t explain everything now, we’re wasting time here. Please tell me you have something that can help him._

She might, but she isn’t completely sure. Her latest batch of adjustments had worked, but only barely. She is that _close_. She could be able to drive the poison out, if that’s what is needed to be done; but she isn’t completely sure that it could be used yet on humans as she hadn’t gone to that stage of testing yet—

 

_Anything at all, Angela; nothing else has been working so far. He’s going to die if we don’t try._

The desperation of Jack to save his friend combined with her own to finally do some good for the team she’s supposed to be a part of is stronger than her senses to follow protocol. She grabs a vial from the shelf containing the samples that should be compatible with the blood type of Commander Reyes, and follows after Jack Morrison as he sprints down the corridors, leading her to the medbay where a sickly pale Gabriel Reyes is shaking and sweating, swearing loudly and fighting off the nurses trying to hold him down.

 

 _The poison is making him delusional. He thinks he’s been caught by Talon and will be tortured for information of our operations._ Jack further explains, assisting in pushing his friend back down on the bed. _Come on, Doc, tell us you can do something for him._

There is a voice in the back of her head that’s telling her: _He’s going to die. Your technology won’t work. You can’t save him._

 

Even with all these doubts, she says with a small smile: _I can try._

 

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Gabriel manages to pull through – but only barely. He’s left incapacitated, ordered out of the field for the rest of the month. Angela thinks this is great because knowing the stubborn man, he would try his damnedest to hop onto the next chopper heading for a mission even when he’s been left so weak by the lasting effects of the poison, which they are still trying to treat. Also, it gives her an opportunity to observe him, her very first human test specimen, and figure out how it worked and how it could work on everyone else.

 

She walks in the private room he’s assigned to rest in at the ward of her building. It’s big enough to fit five other patients, but he has the space all to himself. He has a few get-better-soon cards displayed on the table, signed by Ana and Lena, among others. Winston had left a giant tub of peanut butter in his refrigerator, claiming it does wonders. One side of the room is filled with flowers shipped all the way from Eichenwalde on Reinhardt’s behalf.

 

It’s nice to see how much everyone cares for the commander, but his surly frown dims the room. Of course he doesn’t want to be stuck in here when he could be out elsewhere – if not on the field, then at the practice range, or at the gym; anywhere else where he could be productive.

 

 _Well, you finally got around to visiting, Doctor Ziegler,_ he laughs, all too grimly. _Came to see your guinea pig?_

Should she even try to defend herself? _I did my duty, Commander Reyes._

_I was dying, wasn’t I? I saw myself dying._

_You were, and I brought you back._

_See, I don’t like doctors_ , he says with a sneer _. Never did, probably never will. You guys keep trying to play God, and you always make sure to remind those you treat that they’re are at your complete mercy._

The air between them is so thick with tension that she could cut through it. She doesn’t know what to say to convince him that she had only tried to do what she thought was right. If the team needs him, then so does Overwatch; and so does the rest of the world. She couldn’t give up on a life, especially not on one as important as his.

 

 _I cannot change how you see me, Commander Reyes,_ she says, biting down on her lower lip. She’s trying hard not to crumble beneath the intensity of his gaze. She clutches the clipboard with his medical chart tighter, blocking her own blood from flowing properly. Aside from saving him, what else has she done to justify his ire? _But you can make this easier for the both of us. How are you feeling today?_

_Like shit._

_Ah, so no improvement from yesterday?_ She tries to joke, but it is met with a scoff.

_Just leave me be, Doctor Ziegler._

_I’m not going anywhere._ She finally slams her foot down in protest at his attitude. _I am on the same team as you, Commander Reyes. I am here to help and do my duty as a doctor, and that’s why I saved you. That’s why, if it comes to it, I will save you again._

He doesn’t back down, perpetually stubborn; his pride unwilling to yield when he’s being told off by the younger woman. _I didn’t ask to be saved._

 

_Do you want me to apologize? Do you want me to say I’m sorry? Are you sorry when you do what you think needs to be done, when you go off on missions to kill those who Overwatch deems as enemies? I’ll ask for forgiveness when you do, Commander._

 

The commander pulls himself to sit up, arms straining to carry his own weight. Angela reminds herself to note that this means his muscles have yet to recover from toxin exposure. He’s glaring at her, eyes unkind as he sizes her up. She's a tough woman with nerves of steel – anyone working in the medical profession has to be. And yet, there is something in the way Gabriel Reyes is looking at her that is unnerving, that makes her feel so small. It shouldn’t be this way. As he said earlier, he’s the one who’s supposed to be at her mercy, isn’t he?

 

_Then we’ll both never be forgiven, Angela._

 

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	4. Switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so late and behind on my MercyKill week contributions. I'm sorry! If you're on tumblr you might have seen some of the [drama](http://kaathiiee.tumblr.com/tagged/mk%20drama) that found me lately. It was so stressful to deal with, but I think I managed to pull out of it with some grace. I just hope that my fellow shippers know that liking a ship doesn't make them invalid, and that they totally have a friend in me if they want. :) 
> 
> SO HERE, HAVE SOME FLUFFY FEELINGS. I needed it, and you guys deserve it for being awesome. ♥
> 
> I also need some positivity after dealing with all that discourse, so I would love to hear out your comments on this story. It would be much appreciated! :)

**4: Switch**

 

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She’s out in the field today with other operatives, assigned as the primary medic. Their mission is to extract hostages in a closed building held by rogue omnics – reportedly seven people in total. Commander Reyes – _Gabriel, he already asked you to call him Gabriel instead, Angela_ – had expressed his approval for her to join the team, which is as rare as a blue moon, so he must think that this should go smoothly. He would define it as low-risk, expecting the mission to be over as soon as possible.

 

He’s right in front of her, looking back only to make sure that no one is trailing them and that she’s still actually there behind him. He had ordered her to stay close to him at all times, but she suspects it’s only because he doesn’t want her to get involved in the fighting too much, instead sticking to the healing and not having to pull out her own blaster to get into the defensive. He’s proven that he’s more than capable of protecting the both of them anyway.

 

Their relationship has definitely improved, she would say. He’s still harsh on her, often criticizing, and she may not like it when he has to write it down in his official report that he still thinks she’s a liability and her aim is god-awful; but she comes to understand that he means well. He’s tough on everyone because he cares, and he’s tired of having to attend funerals of his colleagues almost every week. He just doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

 

And the thought of her mattering to him is more than enough to fluster her. She knows how the body works better than most. She knows what it means when her heartbeat races at the sight of him, how her flesh rises upon contact with his; how her own pupils dilate and how her breath hitches when he’s nearby. And she acknowledges that her little infatuation in him is a good thing, because it means she’s allowing herself the luxury to be distracted from her work—

 

_Angela, get down now!_

—or not.

 

This is how she realizes he could just be the end of her.

 

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As an active agent allowed to be commissioned out into the field, she’s been trained on how to handle herself accordingly when a situation goes south. The first step is to keep calm and don’t fall under the pressure. _Remember: panicking causes more deaths than actual bullets._ The second thing to do is to take in the environment. There are possible action steps she can take depending on what is happening around her – but where is she anyway?

 

 _Angela._ Her ears are ringing. _Angela._ When she opens her eyes, it’s all a blur – she can hardly make out anything in the storm of dust. _Angela_. There is numbness about her. She cannot feel her legs or her hands or her face. _Angela_. Where is she? _Angela!_

She groans as someone stirs her to wake. It’s Gabriel, face _so close_ to hers, eyes scanning for a sign that she’s alright. Is she? She isn’t sure yet. She doesn’t even know where she is…

 

 _What happened?_ She coughs out as she comes to, and she feels the warmth of his hand cradling the back of her neck. She ought to chide him; he shouldn’t be moving her like that if she’s injured – which she definitely is, because _oh, that hurts_ , the pain is slowly sinking in and it’s everywhere: on her skin, in her bones, burning through her veins. She’s trying to keep it to herself, _pain can be made into a state of mind_ , _Angela_ , but the tears stream out anyway.

 

 _We were ambushed; the ceiling fell over us_ , he explains, and there’s a panic that’s making his tone rise as he speaks when he sees her crying. _Mostly over you. Damn, it’s my fault, doc. Angela, I should have known—_

She yelps as she tries to move, and he adjusts his hold on her to be more gentle. She’s been so distracted by her own aches that she’s forgotten about the possibility of his. He couldn’t have been too far away when the blast hit them both. Sure, he has all that super soldier strength and endurance to help him, but he also loves to flirt with death so often that she could almost be jealous. Almost.

 

Her hand goes up to cup his cheek in her palm. It hurts to hold it up, but she needs the feel of his skin to comfort her. The other one feels empty without a staff to clutch, and she doesn’t see it anywhere in their near vicinity. She wonders what’s going to happen next, with this proximity, this kind of intimacy they’ve never allowed to have before as to keep all professional boundaries; or with the lack of means to patch each other up. What is there that needs to be healed anyway, are there wounds that need to be sealed? The only thing she needs to close is the distance between them, and it’s improper, she knows; but the ache in her chest far exceeds the ones in her mind at her physical injuries.

 

_Are you okay?_

 

 _What the fuck, Angela_ , he says in turn but it is no means condescending, which is his usual effect when he swears at her. He’s laughing despite everything, and she thinks, _Is this the sound that light makes when it seeps through the cracks in the walls, in a closed room, right as soon as the switch is flicked?_

_I’m okay,_ he tells her with a small grin, _I’m a super soldier, remember?_ _You’re not, and you’re injured, and that magic wand of yours ain’t around to help me help you. I’ve already called for backup and they’re on the way, so you need to stay with me until then, Angela. Tell me what I can do for you._

_I’m going to be all right, Gabriel—_

_Like shit you are. You’re always the one following after us on these missions to make sure we’re all good._ His other hand tucks away the stray strands of hair that has escaped her ponytail, and then falls down on her face so his knuckles are brushing against her cheek. _Let me take care of you this time around, cariño._

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It isn’t new that Angela doesn’t leave the medical building for days at a time. What is different now is how she spends her time there. It’s a degrading thought: she’s being held hostage in her own department. Her broken legs will not heal overnight, even with her induced nanotechnology speeding up the process. And stubborness hasn't helped any patient so far.

 

 _Well, I got to admit you’ve looked better, doc,_ Gabriel teases as he enters the large room. She doesn’t miss his sneer at the overwhelming smell of flowers as soon as he steps in. He might be tempted to leave because of how the scent turns him off, but he doesn’t. He goes to take the medical chart hanging off the side of her bed and pretends to go through it – she knows for a fact he’s pretending when he flips the papers over and feigns concern for her condition.

 

 _You’re not a doctor, Commander Reyes,_ she teases, _and neither are you a great actor. I know my body better than you do._

The way he raises a brow at her statement is suggestive, is _improper_ , and she finds herself flustered all over again. If he notices – and surely, he does – he doesn’t say anything else on it. He sets the charts back and makes his way to the side of her bed instead. _How are you holding up? It isn’t so nice now that you’re the one being forced to stay put, is it?_

 

 _Can’t be a hypocrite to my own recommended treatment_ , she answers smoothly, _and the company hasn’t been so bad either._

_It was here, wasn’t it?_ He suddenly asks, the mood sobering from his question. _This is the same room where we first fought. I told you I didn’t like doctors, and I told you to leave then._

 

She doesn’t answer him immediately because that event seems almost a lifetime ago, when it’s only been a year or so. They’ve already come so far from who they were to each other at the beginning. How important had that been to him for him to remember, and why is he bringing it up now?

 

He looks at her, tentatively, with something in his eyes that could only be mirroring hers – _hope_. She swallows down a nervous gulp, feels her mouth drying up in anticipation. What is she even hoping for? For something to change, for her to hear the sound of light in his laughter once more?

 

_I don’t want you to tell me to leave. You don’t mind if I stay here for a while, do you, Angela?_

 

Yes, that's it, she is hoping for exactly that.

 

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	5. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm behind! Again!! I'll try to catch up, but this was a doozy to write because of how dramatic it is. It'll be lighter and funnier the next chapter, don't worry.
> 
> Point of inspiration for this chapter comes from the 21st sequence in You are Jeff by Richard Siken: _Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise, don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard…_

**5: Reunion**

 

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These days, she’s just trying to keep busy. It’s all she can do to forget, to try to move on from the life that she can no longer come back to, what with the Petras act being strictly enforced. Overwatch may now be a thing of the past, maybe even the stuff of legends, but her vow to do her best to help anyone in any way she can remains. Her honest opinion is that the world has been in a worse state without Overwatch, but there’s nothing she can do about the organization anymore. What she does now is act as an independent agent, travelling to cities all around the world where crisis and conflict are constants, where there are people who need and are willing to accept her assistance.

 

But there are days that repeat themselves too often; days in which she arrives too late, and she’s forced to relive the nightmare that is the fall of Overwatch, finding Gabriel’s body and being unable to help him. It hurts all the more because she sees him in every other casualty she couldn’t have done anything for, and she knows why, even more than a decade after everything, she still cannot let the memory of him go. _Soulmates. I carry you. I carry you in my heart. This way, you are still with me._ She doesn’t even want to let him go.

The ghosts of all the friends she has lost haunts her in every war zone she enters. Gabriel, Jack, Ana; among countless others. She thinks she sees the three of them walking down an empty street, talking to each other in hushed tones, another important mission that demands their full attention. She passes them by and feels the brush of Gabriel’s hand on her arm – an apparition of a touch. If she looks, he will smile the only smile he only ever reserved for her. If she looks, she will know he isn’t really there. Not anymore.

 

_Soulmates, cariño. It also means not even death can truly part. I will always, always find you._

 

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The recall of former agents and operatives of Overwatch happens while she’s in the Middle East, holding the hand of a small girl, unwilling to leave her side as she yields to the multiple injuries she’s received from the latest round of terrorist attacks. _Too young, too innocent._ Every time this happens, she loses a piece of the fragile hope she holds for the world. Angela has become so weary, but she pushes on with the additional weight of the deaths she could not help prevent.

 

The one to blame for the loss of this girl – and that of so many more – is _Talon_. It frustrates her how the United Nations continue to try to deny that the rogue organization still exists when the attacks have always been blatantly _them_. Instead they would call for conferences and express their sorrow at tragedies that can only be isolated events. She knows why the leaders don’t say anything about them. If they acknowledge the existence of an organization that threatens the world, they would also have to acknowledge the necessity of another organization that should be able to counter and neutralize the threat.

 

If Talon exists, so must Overwatch. If not Overwatch itself, then a reiteration of it. And if someone is offering a way for her to help stop all this senseless violence and meaningless deaths, she will take it.

 

She arrives in Gibraltar a few days afterward, at the confirmation from Winston that it is safe to proceed to one of their abandoned watch points. It hadn’t fallen into a too terrible state of disuse. The supplies are mostly unsealed and sterile. The equipment, while a bit out of date, could still do what they had been made for. It’s nowhere near the state it used to be in its glory days, but it’s home.

 

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Of course the first mission she undertakes upon rejoining Overwatch goes wrong. Of course she has to be the one who is ambushed, who ends up staring down the end of a barrel of a rather large shotgun, and the mask of the man behind the trigger. Is the one in front of her even a man?

 

She’s been briefed on this, on the mercenary working for Talon known as the Reaper. Where he appears, death follows. He supposedly is a wraith, a man untouched by the light, hiding in shadows until he can strike for the kill and leave his victims degraded, drained of life. How does he do that, and _why_? Even though Winston and Lena had already faced him and the Widowmaker on one earlier expedition since the recall, they still feared the thought of having to face an enemy whose abilities they couldn’t fully comprehend. Winston, especially, had expressed his concern. _If Talon can produce these types of operatives, we might not be able to stand a chance._

 

If the two agents have reasons to be afraid, she sees those now – looking down at the barrel, staring at the personification of death. She doesn’t move, doesn’t know what she can do because any movement on her side will incite a faster reaction from him. He will kill her if she tries anything, but she has to wonder why it is he hasn’t done so yet. Does he sense her fear? Does it enthrall him?

 

 _You look like you’ve seen a ghost_ , he breathes out through his mask, and it sends a shudder down the spine when he adds a deep chuckle. _You should have just stayed away from Overwatch, Doctor Ziegler, but you never could resist being a hero, could you?_

 

How does he know her? There’s the fact that Talon could have information on former Overwatch operatives, but the comment he makes is too personal, like he has his own vendetta against her. _Who are you?_

_Don’t recognize me, doc?_ He laughs again, and it is this strange mangled sound that comes from his throat. _I came back from the dead just for you, just as you wanted me to._

And at his words, she thinks to herself, _oh, how cruel_. She has never been able to bring anyone back. Reverse a short amount of time to undo major damage, yes, she could with chronal technology; but has she ever defeated death? No.

 

Who is he? He is taunting her as he knows her failures, her insecurities and regrets. She has gone to so many places, has witnessed so much tragedy; has experienced the loss of too many good people close to her. He could be anyone. He could be each and every single one of them. _Who are you?_

_You did this to me._

He isn’t answering her question, and his stalling has given her time to think of much more. Who is he to her? What exactly is he accusing her of? Is he going to kill her or…?

 

A man – another Talon agent, judging by his outfit – comes into the corridor where he’s holding her hostage. _Sir! That’s Doctor Angela Ziegler!_

_Yes, she is,_ the Reaper answers. There is something in his tone that shifts, as though he is annoyed by the intrusion. _What of it?_

 

_She’s a highly valuable asset. There are orders to take her in for conditioning, sir—_

What happens next happens all too quickly: his hand moves away to aim his gun at the man instead of her, he pulls the trigger, a bullet whizzes right past her face, barely cutting it close; the body of the man – his supposed _ally_ – drops behind her. What he’s done is a mistake, because his shotguns are loud enough to alert anyone else of their location. For sure, someone would be on their way to come to her, but her own rescue isn't even what she's thinking about.

 

Her hands clutch at her Caduceus staff, and she turns around to see if she can help the man, but the Reaper finally touches her, grabs her by the wrist so she can’t move away from him. She had thought it would be painful, but it isn’t. It’s firm, but his hold has an unexpected gentleness she doesn’t expect from an enemy. Is he even really the enemy?

 

_Why did you do that?_

_He would know that I didn’t bring you in for conditioning._

_Conditioning,_ she says, slowly, _like what you did with Amelie? The Widowmaker?_ And then his words actually register: _wait, you’re not taking me with you?_

_No, you would die there_ , he says as he lets go of her, _and I can't have that. Not in this lifetime. Not when I just found you again, cariño._

 

He disappears as suddenly as he came up behind her, dark smoke filling up the corridor with his escape. Lena comes through the other end of the hallway and waves at her, jumping through space to be by her side. The younger Overwatch agent eyes her, checking if she’s all right, before taking in the sight of the lifeless body of the man behind Angela.

 

 _He was here, wasn’t he, love? The Reaper?_ Lena asks, concern evident. _How did you get away?_

Angela wants to cry. Her heart is madly beating bruises against her chest, her fingertips are going numb from all the shaking as she drops her staff to her feet; she feels so much from the realization that it hurts. She wants to answer Lena: no, she hadn’t gotten away. She could never.

 

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	6. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop died so I couldn't get any writing done at all since my last update. I'm terribly sorry for the delay, but here is the second to the last installment of this short series. As promised, it's lighter than the last one. Have some fluff. :)
> 
> I'll be off to Tokyo in a few days for a conference, but I'll see if I can get the last chapter up before then.
> 
> If there's anything confusing or contradictory in the whole story so far, please tell me! I got lost in my own feelings for the two of them that I'm not sure if what I'm writing or trying to make out of this story is still making sense, ha ha. Please do feel free to leave a comment or message me over at my [tumblr](http://kaathiiee.tumblr.com), or say hi to me at the Mercykill discord! Hihi.

**6: Sacrifice**

 

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She hears the crash from her balcony at the most ungodly of hours. She doesn’t get enough sleep as is – being the hypocrite that she is when it comes to following recommendations – and she would have let it pass had it not been for the loud groan which followed the thumping sound. It’s instinctive to her to not ignore a cry of pain, and the string of expletives that follow is more than enough to wake her up fully anyway.

 

So she goes. And so she finds the respectable commander sprawled on the floor of her balcony, leaning against the glass wall of her door.

 

 _How did you get up here?_ She demands, not because of the sudden invasion, but because her unit in the housing provided by Overwatch is on the twelfth floor and is nowhere near the fire escape.

 

He glares at her first, like how a man who had been in the darkness for a while would when suddenly flashed with light. Then he realizes who had come out for him, and he grins wolfishly.

 

_Have you ever heard of soulmates, cariño?_

 

She sighs. What is he even saying? She’s witnessing a scene right out of a dream gone senseless. Is she even actually awake? He already haunts every other dream she has; but she’s awake, she knows it, because he’s always sober when she conjures him up in her sleep. This time—

 

_You’re drunk, Commander Reyes._

But he doesn’t stop.

 

 _Soulmates,_ he laughs, sardonic, like he doesn’t believe in it either. _It means wherever I am, I’m with you. Couldn’t get your damn voice outta my head, Ziegler. Couldn’t even try to fuck anyone else when all I could do was think of you. Clavo saca otro clavo._

_I…_ She stops to consider what she can say. There is some hurt, some jealousy she feels at the thought of him with anyone else; but then again, it isn’t as though she hadn’t tried to satiate her own needs through other means. She isn’t his and he isn’t hers, and there could never be a relationship between them due to protocol restrictions on active agents out in the field, and it’s been frustrating as hell to not be able to act out on those feelings, and now he’s drunk in front of her bringing up the nonsensical notion of _soulmates_ , and she— _I, I need a drink._

 

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Gabriel Reyes is a bulky man – nowhere near the stature of Reinhardt, though – and it is only through a miracle that she is able to drag him to the couch. She leaves him lying on the soft leather while she gets her own glass of wine and almost fills it to the brim. She has to have some level of inebriation if she wants to handle him. When she comes back to the parlor, he’s musing out loud.

 

_I wanted to leave, retire earlier than most. This world is a fucking mess and it gets tiring trying to fight for what’s supposed to be right. Instead I end up doing their dirty work._

Her mind goes to one of their earlier interactions, to back when he had tried to reassure her that it was all right to know how to shoot and defend herself and her team when the time came. _We do what we must._

She sits on the ottoman across from him and keeps sipping at her drink, listening to him ramble on.

 

 _I thought of where I could go. Quiet. Somewhere I could finally get some fucking peace away from everything wrong with the world. Somewhere in Europe. Where's it nice, Angela?_   _I thought of starting a family. Having kids. Raise them better than my father ever could. Have I told you that? I hate that excuse of a man. El puto – couldn’t do anything right. But I want to. Can’t do shit for the world, but maybe I could for my own._

It’s a nice thought, though one she fears of entertaining. To have such attachments is dangerous. It’s compromising. She had never considered bearing kids because she knows that if she did, there would come a day where she would have to choose between the life she had helped bring into the world and the lives of others. It isn’t a choice she wants to confront, but she also knows it isn’t impossible to find some balance between work and family. Ana has Fareeha, and as far as Angela can tell, the senior sniper has no regrets over raising the little girl in a still tumultuous world.

 

_I tried imagining it with someone I’d never met, or one of my old novias back in Los Angeles. All I saw was you instead._

She gulps down half of her glass at his words. It isn’t graceful in any way, but she needs more alcohol in her system and there’s still some left in her hands. The buzz comes after a while and it provides a comforting distraction. She’s trying to tell herself not to think about it, not to imagine that kind of world as well, where they could live away from the conflict and just be who they are. Her fantasies are short-lived, however, as the questions pile up. Who is Gabriel Reyes if not the commander of the Blackwatch operations? Who is Angela Ziegler if not Overwatch’s Mercy? Who are they without the war? How could they live like that, knowing the world could be a better place with their help? How selfish would they need to be—?

 

 _We gave up on that life long before Overwatch was even formed,_ she says, closing her eyes. The effects of alcohol finally bring enough strength in her to speak out. _We chose this path for a reason._ She thinks of her parents, caught in the destruction brought about by the first omnic crisis. Her own pain had inspired her to study diligently and work hard so others wouldn’t have to feel that way. She chose to become a doctor, or had the path chosen her? She finishes the contents of her glass and sets it down on the table behind her. _We are both in Overwatch because we know we can do something for others. You won’t admit to it, but you are selfless in that regard, Gabriel._

_I want to be selfish, Angela,_ he tells her, stumbling slightly as he rises from the settee and leaning his body forward so his face is directly in front of hers. She smells the tequila off his breath, feels the warmth of it on her own lips, and she quivers at how much she wants to taste it herself. _Quiero tenerte._

It must have been a while now since he’d left the bar and magically climbed all the way up to her balcony – which is still a mystery in itself  _–_ because he is finally focused on her. Earlier he had just gone on and on with speaking his mind, but now he is actually aware of her. He isn’t as drunk anymore, and she isn’t as drunk as she wants to be. She almost wishes they are.

 

 _Quiero tenerte,_ she repeats his truth. Now hers. Now theirs. When she closes the gap between their lips, it is nothing short of a miracle as well.

 

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He’s up before dawn, like the soldier that he has been trained to be, and he’s trying to sneak out of her unit before someone else could make a scandal out of this all new and all too fragile thing. No one can know. There are rules against relationships, especially in the core team, as it can shift their entire dynamic. There are consequences if anyone found out that what they have done actually meant something.

 

 _What does it mean?_ She’s asking him, her whisper floating all the way across the room for him to hear right before he can twist the knob of her door. _Soulmates?_

 

He turns around and smiles a smile that catches the half-light of the not fully risen sun peeking through her blinds. He walks back over to her and kneels by the side of her bed, as though in prayer, as though in reverence to her still-naked body beneath the thick duvet. He holds her hand like it’s a rosary between his palms and he pulls it up to kiss the tips of her fingers. _It means wherever I am, I carry you. And wherever I am, I’m with you. Tu es mi alma. It also means not even death can truly part. I will always, always find you._

 

When he leaves, she sleeps once more, and she dreams of the life he dreams of, too.

 

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End file.
